


Wanted

by Notevenwinded



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Captain America, Captain America (Comics), Iron Man (Comic), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Western, M/M, Western
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:45:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notevenwinded/pseuds/Notevenwinded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is the new sheriff of the town of Deadwood. Tony Stark is the typical,rich saloon owner, full of himself. A lot change when they finally meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

Being the son of famous Howard Stark wasn’t easy. Especially when you were declared as the prodigal son of the family, ignoring your father’s great achievements and using his name and wealth to fulfil your own irrelevant visions. Sure, Tony Stark was a genius and a rich fella, but he chose not to appreciate his father’s work with the government to build the Pacific Railroad, which gave Tony the opportunity to open his own saloon in Deadwood, away from the bigger towns. He was criticized for that choice, but business was good, and he was enjoying a carefree life, filled with joys and all kinds of temptations. All was well until that dreadful night when bandits stormed inside, shot in the air and took him away before he could do anything to defend himself. Turned out they wanted ransom, and Tony spent a good couple of days in their Fort, helpless to their torture, unable to do anything about it until the bandits could negotiate his release with his father’s associates. Of course he tried to escape; this only granted him a bullet on his chest and a horrible treatment by a local “doctor”. Needless to say, that left him with a huge, ugly to him, scar right in the centre of his chest, which would equally encourage or discourage the ladies; not that he was thinking much about them when that incident was happening, he was mostly worried about his safety.

When he was finally released, he made his way back to Deadwood, trying to recover like nothing happened. Instead, he demanded the release of the local sheriff and is immediate replacement, something that was dealt with right away. Needless to say, he took measures the ensure that repetition of the incident in future would be prevented, and hired a buffed man who went by the name Thor to always be around in the saloon, providing him with a place to stay and drinks. Just providing a service along with drinks was enough for the new muscle of the saloon and kept him content, so Tony focused on getting back his clientele instead.  
That night, he was sitting near the bar, his chin resting on his hands as he was inspecting the regulars, making sure that his girls were doing their job and that everyone was pleased in general. Of course they were, the music was loud enough, the girls’ laugh was echoing, drinks were being served and the games of poker in the back seemed to go well. He sat up properly, fixing his dark red waistcoat and pushed his gelled hair back, casually walking over to the bar and getting a glass of whiskey for himself. He knew that people were talking about his alcoholism, but he thought that he damn deserved a break, and drinking did make him happy in the end of the day. He wasn’t really paying attention to the conversations, but something in particular raised his interest.

_“Heard the new Sherriff is finally in town, about time”_  
 _“It’s a shame, I really liked old Marshall”._  
 _“You know, with Stark being the big bug around here, you knew something was gonna happen”_ , the first man said, taking a swing from his drink.  
 _“Well, as long as the new guy isn’t one of those government suits, we’re gonna be fine”_  
“ _They say he’s an Irish lad, came here all the way from Montana, accent and everything”_ , he giggled.

Tony’s rubbed his chin in interest, it was about time that they sent someone down, and he was getting impatient. It was the local law, the Sherriff had to stop by the saloon for a welcoming drink, and all that Tony had to do was wait. He put on his jacket and fixed his shirt, wanting to look formal enough for the newcomer and nodded at Thor in his corner, whose hat hid his watchful eyes. Soon he was going to be offered a drink and he would ask for Tony’s permission to sit down and relax for a bit.

And he was right. Shortly after some of the girls took upstairs a big company of men, Thor finally relaxed and nodded back to Tony, taking a chair and turning it around, placing his chin on his arms and joined a conversation about a certain bandit that was rumoured to be nearby.  
Where was the new Sherriff though? Tony was more than just curious; he needed to see who ol’ Fury sent down to him, and judge him himself. It was getting late, and soon he would have to get Thor up again and throw every drunk guy who wanted to start a fight outside. He needed no pistol; he could snap a man’s neck before the other put his fingers near the trigger. He was a kind giant, but lethal when he had to be, and that’s why Tony was keeping him around in first place.  
Oh well, he should have known it, the Irish weren’t meant to be trusted or expected to obey American habits and traditions. They stayed together and formed their communities, and Tony wasn’t fond of any Irish fella he has the honour of meeting so far. Tony wasn’t a man of patience, he hated to wait and even more to be disrespected.

And then, when he was about to give up and start barking orders to prepare the saloon for its closure, the door slammed open, and a tall, blonde man stepped inside. Tony’s eyes scanned his surprisingly pale face, from his carefully parted hair to his piercing blue eyes, stopping by his chest to see the large golden star, looking all shiny as it was carefully placed on his dark blue waistcoat. The new comer held his hat between his fingers and took a look around

“Good evening, fellas”, he said loud enough to be heard, and Tony couldn’t help but shiver when he heard the accent that slipped from his words.  
Everyone that was still in the saloon turned to look, examining his attire, watching as the stranger placed his hands over his belt and pushed back his coat, walking over to the bar and sitting on a stool.  
Tony blinked a couple of times, waiting to see if he would say anything else, but he kept silent, not discouraged in the slightest when people starter to murmur around him. The new sheriff looked surprisingly young, and didn’t even greet him. Surely, he had no idea who he was dealing with. He coughed and raised an eyebrow when the man ignored him. Sighing out loud, he stood up and walked over, leaning his back against the wooden counter, inspecting the man’s profile.

“So. Who are you supposed to be?”, he asked, flashing him a cheeky smile.  
“Sheriff Rogers, reporting in”, the blonde man finally said, turning his gaze to Tony. He didn’t have a thick, strong accent, but Tony could still detect his Irish roots in it, especially when he pronounced his name. “And you are..?, he asked.  
“I thought Nickie told you all about me”, Tony replied, crossing his arms.  
“Mr. Stark”, the sheriff replied, nodding politely. “Yes, Marshall Fury has indeed warned me about you, sir”  
“Warned?”, Tony huffed. “Let me guess, is he complaining about the money he lost the other day? Can’t help it when the old man gets stumped every time he gets a card in his hands”, he chuckled lightly.  
The other man didn’t crack a smile; instead he turned around, looking at the various bottles across the bar.  
“You like the booze? Take your pick; we’re supposed to throw you quite the warm welcome anyway. And you Irish know your business more than we do”, Tony said, pointing at some of the shelved drinks.  
“I’ll pass on that, mister. I’m not the type of fella who gets all roistered up”, Rogers replied, looking around for a bit.  
“Come on, you can’t be serious?! An Irish man who doesn’t drink? What kind of person is that?” Tony asked surprised.  
“A responsible one”, the other replied firmly. “Mr. Stark, I’ll expect to see you tomorrow morning, I have a couple of messages for you from Nick”, he added after a small pause, standing up and wearing his hat once again, lowering it so it covered his eyes.  
Tony narrowed his eyes; being ordered around by someone else, especially when it came to a newcomer, wasn’t something he was looking forward to. “Did Nick tell you to say that too?”, he asked between his teeth.  
“I’m following the orders that were given to me. Have a good night, Mr. Stark”, the sheriff replied and turned around, putting on his gloves and leaving the building.

Tony could have sworn that he saw the other man smirking faintly, and he didn’t know if that annoyed him or intrigued him. Yes, he would go with both. Whoever this mysterious sheriff turned out to be, things would end up being quite interesting.

“Sheriff Rogers, huh..?”, he smiled to himself, finishing the glass of whiskey in his hands.


	2. New Sheriff in town

Steve Rogers was resting against the wall, next to the empty, single cell, shutting his eyes and waiting for the older saloon owner. He got a good look at him the night before, but he only showed up for a while because he had to; big towns sure had weird customs.

He grew up in a small Irish community, doing all kinds of chores to support his mother once his father was killed in during an argument that turned out to be quite bloody and ugly in the end. After his mother passed away, he worked at random ranches around town, herding and tending cattle, learning his way round being a proper cowboy and most of all, how to ride a horse. He was quite good at it; he was even called a natural when he tamed his first wild horse. It was a beautiful beast, with a shiny brown coat, dark markings around its eyes and an attitude closer to one of a mule’s. Of course Captain, a fitting name for such a companion, came with Steve and accompanied him when he finally decided to work for the law. That required him to move to the nearest town, leaving most of his older life behind. Irish men weren’t exactly favoured by the local authorities and they sure caused some unnecessary trouble, especially when they started forming big gangs. Still, the Marshall did give young Steve a chance to prove himself, and was even impressed with the boy’s determination to serve the country’s law and protect its citizens.   
He was trained well and soon enough he became more useful, even tracking down bandits and bringing them in, glad that he was doing his job well. His reputation preceded him and after the Marshall retired he took his place, clearing up the smallest towns. 

A few days ago, when he was called in and told that his services were requested in Deadwood, his eyes widened in amazement. Deadwood, one of the country’s most notorious and busiest towns was going to be under his protection. But of course he had to be filled in about the man who basically ran the town; the famous Anthony Stark. Everyone knew his father, and now everyone knew his son as well, not because he was as important, but because he was a couple of things; a drunk, gambler, ladies’ man and an eccentric genius. 

There was no way that Steve of all people would get along with him, not with his poor history and humble attitude. Still, he was ordered to see him at his saloon the moment he set foot in town, and did as requested. The other man was blabbering a lot, and Steve liked his silent environment. But he wasn’t aggressive either, he was polite and civil and there he was now, the day after, waiting on him. 

He was slowly starting to fall asleep, thinking of quite a few things, mostly wanting to go back and visit his mother’s grave at some point, wanting her to see the brand new Sheriff star on his chest. He smiled at the thought; she was always encouraging him to fight for the greater good, and there he was, clearing up the towns from criminals and all kinds of smug faces.   
His eyes opened wide when he heard the door creaking, the bright sun entering the small building. He blinked a couple of times, but that’s when he saw him standing in front of him, taking off his hat and slicking his hair back, always with that smug look on his face. Tony Stark was there, inviting himself in and taking one of the chairs, his feet dropping on the desk. 

“You seem too balled up for this early in the morning”, he said with a casual laugh.  
“It’s nearly 12, Stark, it’s hardly morning anymore”, Steve said with a raise of his eyebrow. He was up early anyway, he had a fixed morning routine, but he tried hard not to say anything to the yawning man in front of him.  
“Really? What ungodly hour do you wake up at?”, the other man asked lazily.  
“6 am.”  
“Ouch. You don’t know how to have fun, do you? Poor guy”, Tony said, shaking his head.  
Steve clenched his jaw, ignoring the comments as he saw past Tony, fixing some papers in front of him. “I was called because you specifically requested someone to..?” he said, pointing at Tony to answer is question.  
“The old man was hardly doing his job. Got kidnapped, had to pay a big ransom to get free. Would you have been able to do any better?” Tony asked him, scanning his face.  
“I’m more than just skilled, I can safely vouch for the safety of every citizen in this town, Mr. Stark”, Steve replied confidently. “I can reassure you that all of you will be safe under my watchful eye”, he nodded.

Tony rolled his eyes; did anybody talk that politely anymore? Maybe they did, but not in Deadwood for sure, and this strange, polite yet intimidating Irish fella sure stuck out like a fish out of the water. “You do that, maybe I’ll get to sleep with my door open now”, he chuckled, looking around. “You still have to accept the offer for that drink”, he added casually. What he was doing? Tony Stark wasn’t pleading, he was offering Rogers a chance to join the big league, and after all, he was the Sheriff.  
Steve gave the man an inspecting look once again. All right, maybe just one glass was the polite thing to do, and in the end, he still needed to meet the rest of the townsfolk and earn his respect.

“I’ll see if I can come around tonight”, he finally nodded, making Tony sigh with relief internally. No, he didn’t hope that he would come, he just needed to keep the bar buzzing, and the new Sheriff having a drink with Tony Stark would sure cause some talk. Not that he cared; even better, it would actually attract more people. After all, whenever he liked it or not, he was relying on that man from now on when it came to safety.  
“Like I said, the booze’s on me, but don’t abuse that”, Tony said, adding a small laugh to indicate that he was in fact joking, standing up and fixing his waistcoat. Even if Steve tried not to pay attention, Tony was indeed a fine man, someone that all the ladies in town would swoon over. Who was he kidding; they probably did every night he sat down by the bar.   
“I’ll try not to.” he said in an attempt to break the ice, after all, Tony wasn’t being hostile, he guessed that this was part of the man’s charm.   
“Was that you making a joke, Sheriff?” Tony asked as he leaned against the door, putting on his hat.  
“Call me Steve. And maybe I was”, the Sheriff corrected with a polite nod, getting up as well.  
“Well, remind me to teach you a couple of things about American humour, Steve” Tony replied, waving and walking outside across the road.

The way the man pronounced his name sent a shiver down Steve’s back, rubbing the back of his head as he walked down to his desk again. That night could be quite eventful the way he saw it.


End file.
